


Hold My Hand

by nuclearchinchilla



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 1960s, Frottage, Gay Bar, Idiots in Love, Illya being as hissy as usual, Light Angst, M/M, Victor being as extra as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 04:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12247212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearchinchilla/pseuds/nuclearchinchilla
Summary: "That way, you get to preserve your ever so fragile sense of masculinity," Napoleon explained."What did you just say?""Well I'm just saying, I wouldn't mind if we do it the other way round. I, on one hand, am man enough to stand having my hand held. Pun intended. But, if you, of course, are so uncomfortable and uncertain of your heterosexuality- "





	Hold My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Look, an actual complete YOI spyfic. Anyway. 
> 
> Concrit welcome!

Napoleon was holding his hand.

"Cowboy?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you holding my hand?"

Napoleon briefly contemplated the answers he could give. He figured, at first, that holding Illya's hand would stop people in this bar from making passes at him. And if people didn't make passes at Illya, then people wouldn't get beaten up. They weren't here to start shit, so to speak. Then Napoleon realized that, with the way that Illya was positively radiating an aura of icy, menacing unapproachability, no one would dare make a pass at him anyway, Napoleon holding his hand or not. Except, if Illya went around looking so frosty, free from Napoleon's hand grip, people might think Illya was a roaming single heterosexual boiling with anger and here to start shit. And that wouldn't do either.

Therefore this little something to make them look like a gay couple, which should make them blend more into this gay bar. Long story, really.

"It'll stop them from making passes at you," Napoleon went with the simple answer.

"I'll just punch them if they make passes at me."

Napoleon decided it was safe to roll his eyes from behind the masquerade masks he (and everyone else) was wearing.

"Now you know you can't do that, Peril," he said.

There was a pause. Napoleon couldn't quite see it, mask and all, but he could just feel Illya glaring at him.

"You know if you're glaring at me, I can't tell from underneath that mask," he pointed out.

The assumed glare held for another moment.

"Is this how you see it, uh, Cowboy? That I'm the bitch in the relationship, if we were-"

"Ok whoa whoa, I did not say that," Napoleon interrupted. He released his hand to de-escalate the situation, and opened his arms wide for a moment. Jeez, why was Illya being so fucking antsy today. He thought they had gotten past this sort of tension in their relationship. Well, of course, he meant their working relationship. And their friendship, or at least he fancied they had a friendship.

"Alright, I get it. How about you hold my hand?" he offered.

Another pause. At least this time it was a bit better- he could feel that Illya was just staring instead of glaring.

Still, he was getting bored, so he decided he deserved a bit of fun.

"That way, you get to preserve your ever so fragile sense of masculinity," Napoleon explained.

"What did you just say?"

"Well I'm just saying, I wouldn't mind if we do it the other way round. I, on one hand, am man enough to stand having my hand held. Pun intended. But, if you, of course, are so uncomfortable and uncertain of your heterosexuality- "

"I'm not." Illya interjected in a dangerous tone.

"Alright."

"Hold my hand."

Napoleon fought down a smirk. "Alright."

"Sorry to interrupt," the not-at-all-sorry voice of Waverly spoke into their earpieces, "but if you're both done having your catfight about who gets to hold whose hand, please focus on finding the target."

"How does he look like?" Illya asked casually and quietly, but not so quietly that it looked suspicious.

"Guy who acts so camp, he can't pass for straight to anyone in a ten mile radius, is what we're told," said Napoleon.

"That's half the people here," Illya pointed out.

"He's also in his late twenties and has silver-white hair," replied Napoleon.

"Ok." Illya scanned the room. So far, no relatively young person with shockingly white hair.

In the meantime, Napoleon threw down drink after drink after drink. He knew he wasn't supposed to do that, not at a time like this. But something about the place was getting on his nerves. It wasn't that he minded, theoretically speaking, this sort of place and this sort of people and this sort of lifestyle. It's just.

 _Maybe Illya's bitchiness is contagious after all,_ Napoleon considered. Except that he was pretty sure the man just plain disliked everything about this sort of place and people and lifestyle, and would give up his right cufflink about right now if it meant he could punch a gay guy in the face. Illya's reasons, Napoleon assumed, really are such simpler. Right now, Napoleon was feeling strange in a bad way, and he didn't know why, only that alcohol was a welcome distraction and he didn't really want to look at anyone.

Then their target came in. He wasn't wearing a mask. This was either a man who was plain stupid, a man with a death wish for his reputation, or a man powerful enough to know that he could do something risky like this and yet no one would dare mess with him.

From the way that no one approached him to throw him out, and in fact no one even gave him a weird look for his unmasked state, Illya was willing to bet it was that last reason.

 _Viktor Nikiforov,_ Napoleon thought. He recalled Waverly's briefing.

 _"Viktor Nikiforov is an important operative within the Temple of Echetlaeus, a radical splinter group from the more mainstream Plowshare movement. Both groups believe in complete nuclear disarmament, in hopes of ending the Cold War and achieving everlasting global peace. The Plowshares are certainly no issue, as they are strictly nonviolent. Their motives, while seen as misguided_ _as many a governmental agency, are also understood to be noble. However, the Temple of Echetlaeus cannot be likewise tolerated. They follow that strange principle of brief conflict to bring everlasting peace. As their demands of global disarmament continue to be unmet, they have thus far_ _escalated from nonviolent protests to violent protests, onwards to the sabotage of nuclear plants and facilities, and more recently, the attempted kidnapping of important figures. Their plans have, as you know, culminated in your previous mission [their mission was to ensure the safety of the nephew of_ _the Japanese Prime Minister, Katsuki Yuuri, who the Temple attempted to assassinate]. You are to go undercover to meet Nikiforov and extract Temple information from him, forcibly if need be. If you fail to achieve that objective, eliminate him."_

Viktor lounged onto a couch, and immediately some glittery twink with an equally glittery drink sauntered over. Said twink had a black masquerade mask trimmed with gold, and a skimpy outfit of a similar colour scheme. He had milky white skin just like Viktor's, except his hair was as pitch black as Napoleon's, and slicked back in a messy sort of way. Illya didn't know how, but somehow the man could pull off rhinestones, fishnet and even honest-to-god golden lipstick, without looking tasteless. From the way the two men laughed and from the tone of their speech, they seemed quite familiar with each other.

Viktor waved his mask at Napoleon and Illya as they approached.

"It gets in the way of me winking," he explained his unmasked state.

Illya didn't know how to respond to such a comment, so he didn't.

Napoleon tried his most charming smile.

"I'd love to give you my name, but I suppose I shouldn't. A shame. But we're new to the scene, and we heard you're just the man we should go to," Napoleon purred, going for his usual role of the smooth and suave dominant playboy. He briefly considered acting coy and coquettish, what with their cover of being newbies of some sort, but he decided that the whole act of it- batting eyelashes and all- just wouldn't suit his figure.

"Just a talk then? I wouldn't mind conversation if everyone looked like you two," Viktor considered, "but if you're thinking about getting anything more, my man is right here." He gestured to the lithe figure next to him, who was sipping from a cocktail that seemed to sparkle a little too much to be safe.

"We don't want anything more," Illya said, trying not to sound hasty.

"And what if you're grunts sent after me?"

"What do you mean?" Napoleon asked, feighing confusion.

"Let's just say that my business circles get a little exciting every now and then," Viktor smiled, "ah well, it doesn't matter. If you're not sent here to do business with me, then you're here because you like men, right?"

"I know," he continued, raising a thoughful finger to his lips as a calculating glint entered those icy blue eyes, "I need proof. Go on, make out with someone."

For a tick, no one said anything.

"If you think," Illya grinded his teeth, "that I'm going to just fling myself at anyone like a common whore-"

"Alright, not just anyone then. Him," said Viktor, gesturing to Napoleon, "my katsudon tells me you've been clinging to his side for the past half an hour. You can't hate him that much."

"And what do you propose I do?"

"Kiss him," Viktor beamed, "what else? If you want to do more, I won't stop you, but I'm not that much of a voyeur."

Napoleon could plainly see the way every nerve in Illya's body was winding up.

"Illya, we can go," he said, in a firm but concerned sort of way.

"If you can do it, I wouldn't mind…" he continued quietly, in a 'it's best if we do this, but I understand if you can't'.

Napoleon's pity made Illya sick.

"Forget I-" Viktor began, and he would've said 'forget I said that, I'll stop joking', except Illya was already storming out.

"Kuryakin," Waverly's voice buzzed in his ear.

"We'll find another way," Illya replied, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Kuryakin. I'm afraid there isn't another way. Quite frankly, this is our only chance."

"Come on," Napoleon said with a sort of quiet determination and concern, "you can do this."

"Don't pity me. It's not like it's that fucking hard to kiss you," Illya spat, with more vitriol than he intended. He instantly saw the slightest jerk of shock hit Napoleon. They had progressed far enough in their alliance- friendship- whatever this was, that it was rare for Illya to lapse into a mean spirit so suddenly to the other man.

"You're back? I hope your boss from whichever agency isn't forcing you," Viktor said glibly, addressing their return.

"I don't know what you're talking about," dismissed Illya, "l was merely contemplating whether I should kiss him. He might look, on the surface, to be alright to you, but he's actually an insufferably cocky dumb American pervert with an ego the size of ten farms. My dignity may well be affronted by kissing him. But if that is what you want to see so badly, ok."

Napoleon pursed his lips. "That's not very nice. Do you think I want to get kissed by you?"

"Yes."

"I suppose you're right," Napoleon said with a mock-shrug, "after all, I've been so busy that I haven't had dick for the past four months, so absolutely any port in the storm will do. But these really are the worst depths that desperation can sink a man to. I must say, I'm really lowering my standards by consenting to a socially impaired Russian tryhard with a stick up his ass and a temper that can be set off by a fleck of dust falling into his eye."

It felt suddenly like their first meeting all over again, except even more dangerous. Illya doesn't quite know why this argument feels so much more dangerous. Punches haven't been pulled (yet).

Still. _He's showing mercy, isn't he?_ whispered a voice at the back of Illya's head. And actually Illya was showing mercy too. They both knew each other better than this- they knew where to hit each other where it really hurt. But neither of them had done so. They were throwing insults only close to where it hurt- and not even that close.  

"Now are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to kiss me?" Napoleon continued.

Illya froze. He realized he was, in fact, going to stand there all day. At least with Gaby, he could understand himself- why it was that his romantic shyness stilled him, why it was that he would fix her with a burning gaze and halt before the final moment. But with the Napoleon, why then was he-

"He really can't do anything," Napoleon said as an aside to Viktor before he leaned forward to kiss Illya.

Napoleon being the libertine that he was, albeit a (purportedly) heterosexual libertine, Illya was naturally expecting a lot from that kiss. What he got instead was a sudden bump against his front teeth, and then a hasty readjustment into a terrible sort of sloppy kiss which felt and sounded like Napoleon was trying to eat him. Maybe it was panicky nerves on Napoleon's part, maybe it was the alcohol in his system (except that of course, a tipsy Napoleon could still insult him just fine). Illya instantly felt a flickering of rage spark within him. Napoleon could kiss a woman so well, so why wouldn't he kiss Illya properly?

Illya pulled away, wiping spit off his lips. "Gin tastes terrible on you, and you kiss like a dog," he plainly stated.

"Well why don't you show me how you kiss then, Peril?"

So he did.

He started off slow, tilting his head to give a soft kiss, nibbling on the Napoleon's bottom lip and then prodding gently with his tongue. Then Illya gradually escalated from there. As he worked at it, he loosened Napoleon's tie and undid the top two buttons of his many layers. He deepened the kiss bit by bit, alternating that with a series of kisses down the increasingy feverish skin of Napoleon, all the way down to the collarbone.

"You're taking your jolly sweet time, aren't you?" Napoleon asked. Although he was going for playful, he was actually panting a bit. His gunmetal blue eyes were clouding over while half-lidded, and even his hair had somehow gotten a bit ruffled. _Fuck,_ Illya thought. Something about that sight was dangerous.

"Shut up," Illya hissed, although it came out more of a purr. He licked Napoleon's earlobe and grazed it with his teeth, eliciting a whimper.

Everything just rapidly unravelled from there. When their lips were locked together, they were fighting for dominance. When their lips were not, the kisses Illya had been planting on Napoleon's bare skin were turning into love bites, with a rather prominent one left on the nape of his neck. Each one gave Napoleon a jolt, like lightning bolts shooting down his spinal column.

Everything was starting to undo Illya- that heady musk of Napoleon's mixed with the spice of his aftershave was almost enough to get lost in. He had a heavier and earthier smell to him compared to the soft scent of a woman. Then there was the sight of that subtle blush creeping down from his cheeks to his clavicle. Illya had been gripping onto Napoleon's hair in their sort of feverish haze, and those jet black bangs were starting to make the man look positively ravished from the way they got tousled.

Illya could've sworn. Fuck. He was getting hard.

By then, their three-piece ensemble was not only half-undone, but half-rumpled. He reached in and twisted Napoleon's left nipple over the fabric of the remaining undershirt. Napoleon jolted, happening to shift his hips. Their erections aligned and Illya just grinded. The other agent let out the kind of sound that threatened to undo their remaining self-restraint.

"This is how you kiss someone properly, you tremendous whore," Illya hissed into other man's ears. He thrust into Napoleon's hips again, almost unthinkingly, eliciting an even louder moan. He could put that sound on record and repeat it for hours. Maybe he should rut against the other man, and just not stop, until he comes, or Napoleon does, or both of them do, maybe he should-

A wine glass shattered in the background. The high-pitched sound rang out in Illya's ears and broke the moment. He pulled away.

 _Don't even think about it._ He grinded his teeth. _Don't think about it. Don't. Think._

He was still hard.

He turned to glare at Viktor. "That enough for you?'

"Yes. You're from U.N.C.L.E.," Viktor smiled, "don't worry, I could sense it ever since you came in all scary, built like a powerhouse and staring daggers at me. Although, since you were being all scary, I suppose your superior hasn't gotten the memo yet. Has he gotten the memo now? Probably not. So let's just talk. Firstly, wow, I didn't know you two would actually do it. I'm sorry if I took the joke too far. Tell me, are you two specifically the agents who foiled the assassination of Katsuki Yuuri?"

Illya's grip on his not-so-hidden gun immediately tightened. Napoleon just gave a questioning smile.

"So you are," Viktor decided from their reactions.

"We'll make such great friends!" Viktor furthermore beamed.

Then Waverly's voice suddenly came through their earpiece.

A second more and Illya would've fired that gun.

"Change of plans, agents. It turns out that Mr Nikiforov has already transferred all the data he has on the Temple to us. He is defecting. Initial verification estimates his information to be truthful," Waverly relayed.

"I'm sorry- Waverly- what did you just say?" Napoleon couldn't help saying.

"Solo, Kuryakin, information I have only just received shows your target has officially defected to U.N.C.L.E. I'd like you to meet our newest operative, Viktor Nikiforov."

"Someone says you've switched sides," Illya addressed Viktor tonelessly.

"If you think I would've let them try to kill a guy who looks as hot as Yuuri, then you're wrong," Viktor said by way of explanation.

"Solo, Kuryakin, please tell Nikiforov to refrain from making comments such as-"

"If your boss is telling you to tell me to shut up, don't worry. I won't call guys hot outside of places like these," he winked.

Illya decided he didn't like the guy already, if only becaus that hefty wink was so extra.

"I assume my letters got to your- our boss a bit late. I made it a condition that I work with the guys who managed to foil the assassination. I found your work to be top-notch. I can't thank you both enough," Viktor continued.

Napoleon just nodded. Illya decided to remain a trifle suspicious, as was his principle.

"Waverly wants to see you in person immediately. We have to go now," said Napoleon.

Viktor honest-to-god pouted.

"Oh well. I wanted to spend the night with you, pork cutlet, but I guess I can't," he addressed the gaudy twink who had since advanced to perching on his thigh.

Illya decided he really didn't like a guy who thought 'pork cutlet' was in any way an acceptable term of affection.

"You'll write me, won't you?" asked the twink in a hopeful, almost innocent tone.

"Of course I will. And I'll see you soonest," Viktor said in a smooth, sultry sort of tone.

Illya squinted. He couldn't help but feel there was something a little bit familiar-looking about the twink.

As they fixed their clothes and departed, Napoleon spoke.

"Peril?" Napoleon asked, not looking at Illya as he said it.

"Yes?" Illya asked, with even a tinge of concern, for he could hear that Napoleon was hiding some nervousness.

"I think it was awfully rude of you not to finish what you started," he replied in that same smooth, nonchalant tone which almost but not quite hid his nerves.

"Then we'll finish it later."

"Tonight."

"Tonight."

"You know my room."

"Of course I do, Cowboy."

"That wasn't a question. Now this is a question- do you want to leave the 14 bugs you planted in there, or do you want to take them?"

"It's 15. And I'll take them, thanks."


End file.
